Cry From The Grave
Chapter 25
It had taken two hours before all the desired staff members assembled in the chapel of St. Matthew's Grove. Ballack could hardly expect it to be an efficient process, especially as some had the day off, but his irritation still steamed from him like cheap cologne. Father Giles bemoaned the use of the chapel as a place of gathering for anything other than prayer or Communion; he believed he'd given enough latitude when he allowed himself and Isabel Andrews to be interviewed there the day before. Tori reminded the priest this was a tragic necessity that overrode his present desires.
Ballack was able to complete a Jumble and several anagrams in the time they tarried. He found the word interplay somewhat soothing, but whenever he finished a puzzle, he had a nagging sense that time was getting away from them.
Billy Hanspard was the on-duty nurse this day and he had borne the primary responsibility of juggling care for patients, calling the staff, and making certain all matters were up to snuff. Father Giles had arrived from his home in Crestwood first, followed by Beverly Overton, who was none too happy about coming in on her day off. If she was smoldering, Anna Barber was positively irate. While Ballack sat in the chapel, he could hear Barber flagellate Tori with her complaints in the lobby. It was an exercise Ballack found to be unprofessional and ugly.
Three other nurses arrived within the next twenty minutes. Roberta Hollis had been on duty the night before and seemed to have been wakened from a Rip Van Winkle-like nap. Celia Nix and Elsie Finn were the other two and, despite their surprise, they seemed to bear no ill will toward either of the detectives. Ballack was glad to see that Eric Carter had the class to show up a few minutes after Isabel Andrews did. The final individual was a housekeeper by the name of Georgena Cundall, who was already there for a short shift.
When the entire tribe had assembled, Ballack nodded to Father Giles in case he wanted to say a few words and the priest did so, asking them to bow their heads. Those gathered remained silent as Giles spoke the collect of the day from the Book of Common Prayer.
"O God, whose blessed Son came into the world that he might destroy the works of the devil and make us children of God and heirs of eternal life: Grant that, having this hope, we may purify ourselves as he is pure; that, when he comes again with power and great glory, we may be made like him in his eternal and glorious kingdom; where he lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, forever and ever. Amen."
Giles shuffled backward and took his place on the periphery of the group, preferring to stand. Ballack circled into the center aisle, his mind clear and his voice steady, but his soul flashing with anger.
"I am sorry for the inconvenience this has caused any of you. However, that pales in comparison to the danger in which our team found ourselves this morning. At a location some distance from here, someone opened fire on us as we were gathering evidence on this case. As you can see, fellow detectives Missy Crabolli and Zane Hull are not here, for the simple reason they are at a nearby hospital. Detective Hull in particular was severely wounded by a bullet to the chest."
He allowed his words to sink in. Tori slowly walked up the aisle.
"It will help, of course," she said, "once we know of your whereabouts between ten o'clock this morning and noontime."
There followed a nervous titter among the staff. Isabel Andrews looked around and then abruptly stood up. "May I ask why this insistence on putting the staff here under scrutiny on this matter? Shouldn't the focus be on finding Dr. Hibbler's murderer? That seems to be the most critical thing to me."
Ballack snapped inside but kept his voice even. "Mrs. Andrews, the reason we were ambushed was that we were making progress on catching the murderer." He waited, knowing that was at best a half-truth. "The shooter knew exactly where we were going to be this morning. It is too remarkable to be a coincidence."
"That's not to say it wasn't," Isabel shot back, "and it still seems that what you're doing here is beyond the necessity of your investigation."
"Mrs. Andrews," Ballack replied in snippy fashion, "do you know who murdered Dr. Hibbler?"
"I do not."
"Then this much is true: You are in no position to order us on the scope or necessity of our work here."
Silence reigned in the chapel.
Ballack opened his laptop. "If that is the case," he said, "we will see each of you in turn. Detective Vaughan will see people in the library, beginning with Isabel Andrews. I will start with Father Giles. Everyone else, stay close in the narthex unless critical duties call you away for the briefest of times. Mr. Hanspard, as you were confirmed to be on duty and working here this morning, you are excused to return to your duties. If I need to speak with you, I'll send for you."
The rest shuffled out, with Anna Barber shooting both detectives a look of absolute disdain. Ballack watched everyone leave and readied himself to navigate a narrow avenue of frustration.
The interviews were brief. Father Giles maintained he and his wife had attended Emmanuel Episcopal at the ten-thirty service and personally spoken to Nick Fisher afterward. In fact, he needed to leave soon in order to get back across the street and assist Fisher with the five-thirty Holy Eucharist service. Ballack said he would check with the rector about the morning alibi, but he knew instinctively it would be unnecessary. Roberta Hollis was gracious in her responses, no small task on very little sleep. She had worked from seven last evening until clocking out at seven in the morning. She went home to her Kirkwood apartment and was asleep by eight o'clock. Her boyfriend Arnie was there the whole time and, while he had distracted himself by reading the Sunday Post-Dispatch online and watching ESPN over cold cereal, he could verify she never left the bedroom.
Celia Nix and Elsie Finn went in rapid-fire fashion. They had both been at Chesterfield Mall, a short distance from Elsie's house. They had gone walking at the mall--likely the only activity the structure was good for with its declining retail sales--doing three miles before getting frozen yogurt. Celia still had the receipt, which Ballack asked to keep. He grimaced and wondered if Tori was making progress with her crew. She had just sent him a text that her talk with Anna Barber was an unmitigated disaster. Isabel Andrews had gone to a late breakfast with her husband. Georgena Cundall came in at nine-thirty. Her day began with changing out the trash liners, mopping the patient rooms and hallways, and then finishing the vast amount of laundry. Her shift was to have concluded at three-thirty and she was wondering if she could leave soon, being two hours late getting home. Tori now had Eric Carter in the library strictly for show. There was no sense letting the others believe they had him off the hook as a suspect in the shooting.
Ballack remembered they had not yet talked to Beverly Overton, so he used his footplates to nudge the chapel doors open and then waved her into the room. Crabolli and Hull had interviewed her before and had found her to be a straightforward, pleasant person. She strode past Ballack and took a seat in the back row, crossing her legs. Ballack took stock of her, as this was the first time he been up close and personal. Her reddish-brown hair was brushed back smoothly and smelled freshly shampooed. She wore a black sweater with tan slacks and crocs on her bare feet. A bandage was tightly wrapped around her right hand. She stood at least five feet nine inches and her blue eyes sparkled as she appraised Ballack kindly.
He asked where she had just come from and she acknowledged coming from her house after an interrupted conversation with a neighbor.
"You live where?"
"On Trinket Drive near the dividing line between Des Peres and Kirkwood."
"Alone or with someone?" Ballack asked, noting no wedding band on her finger.
"By myself. My husband died four years back. Lawrence was seven years older than me. Died at fifty-two of a sudden heart attack. We were married for eighteen years. I still have the house and my job here, at least for now."
Ballack nodded and remained silent, to which she said, "I know you must have heard the rumors."
"Yes, Mrs. Overton. I have and..I...I couldn't help but notice your hand is wrapped. Did you injure it?"
"Scorched is more like it," she replied. "It was yesterday. I was back in that copy room and I had to change out the toner cartridge."
"So soon after everything that happened?" Ballack asked. "Dr. Hibbler's office was connected off the copy room and the scene wasn't exactly pleasant."
"Well, he didn't die in the copy room itself," she answered, her eyes blinking back tears. "And we still had work to do. That's what Isabel wanted, for us to carry on. Stiff upper lip."
"It's not Britain," Ballack offered, "but I see your point. So the toner cartridge burned you?"
"When I pulled it out, my palm must've rested on some hot metal part and it burned my hand, especially the soft part there between my thumb and index finger. It's turned into a fairly nasty blood blister."
"Is it interfering with anything you do here?" asked Ballack.
"Not terribly. I was off today, you remember," she said directly.
"Did someone else do the dressing?"
"No, I pulled that together myself. No one even noticed until Father Giles asked me about it in passing just now when he left."
"Where were you this morning, Mrs. Overton, during the time I mentioned previously?"
"I woke up around seven o'clock and went for a walk in my neighborhood. I had breakfast and watched some morning shows. Sometimes I go to church, but our choir is taking a November break before gearing up for Advent."
"You sing?"
"I have since I was seven years old. I sing in my church choir and also lead a group that carols here at the hospice each year."
"I apologize for interrupting. The rest of your morning, please."
"Well, instead of church, I stayed home. I called my sister Judy around ten. She lives in Buffalo. We spoke for about nineteen minutes. She lost her husband last year. Commiseration, you know."
"Thus, you were done speaking with her by ten-thirty?"
"Yes. Now that was on my cell phone, but I was at home the whole time."
"Did anyone in your neighborhood see you during the hours of ten until noon this morning?"
"Well, they might very well have. I did get the mail at ten-fifteen."
"The mail? On Sunday?"
"Didn't grab it from the mailbox yesterday."
"So, you got it during your phone call with your sister?"
Beverly Overton thought carefully. "It would have to be, wouldn't it?"
The conversation seemed to be winding up, and Ballack wondered if Tori might have found anything on her end. Nothing seemed to be going well.
"Thank you, Mrs. Overton. You may leave now. And I am sorry for the interruption of your day."
She nodded curtly as she rose to leave. Before she reached the doors, Ballack called out, "I hope it gets better."
"What gets better?"
He pointed. "The burn on your hand."
She touched the bandage tenderly, looking around the chapel. "Thank you. I'm sure it will." And she was gone.
Giles shuffled backward and took his place on the periphery of the group, preferring to stand. Ballack circled into the center aisle, his mind clear and his voice steady, but his soul flashing with anger.
"I am sorry for the inconvenience this has caused any of you. However, that pales in comparison to the danger in which our team found ourselves this morning. At a location some distance from here, someone opened fire on us as we were gathering evidence on this case. As you can see, fellow detectives Missy Crabolli and Zane Hull are not here, for the simple reason they are at a nearby hospital. Detective Hull in particular was severely wounded by a bullet to the chest."
He allowed his words to sink in. Tori slowly walked up the aisle.
"It will help, of course," she said, "once we know of your whereabouts between ten o'clock this morning and noontime."
There followed a nervous titter among the staff. Isabel Andrews looked around and then abruptly stood up. "May I ask why this insistence on putting the staff here under scrutiny on this matter? Shouldn't the focus be on finding Dr. Hibbler's murderer? That seems to be the most critical thing to me."
Ballack snapped inside but kept his voice even. "Mrs. Andrews, the reason we were ambushed was that we were making progress on catching the murderer." He waited, knowing that was at best a half-truth. "The shooter knew exactly where we were going to be this morning. It is too remarkable to be a coincidence."
"That's not to say it wasn't," Isabel shot back, "and it still seems that what you're doing here is beyond the necessity of your investigation."
"Mrs. Andrews," Ballack replied in snippy fashion, "do you know who murdered Dr. Hibbler?"
"I do not."
"Then this much is true: You are in no position to order us on the scope or necessity of our work here."
Silence reigned in the chapel.
Ballack opened his laptop. "If that is the case," he said, "we will see each of you in turn. Detective Vaughan will see people in the library, beginning with Isabel Andrews. I will start with Father Giles. Everyone else, stay close in the narthex unless critical duties call you away for the briefest of times. Mr. Hanspard, as you were confirmed to be on duty and working here this morning, you are excused to return to your duties. If I need to speak with you, I'll send for you."
The rest shuffled out, with Anna Barber shooting both detectives a look of absolute disdain. Ballack watched everyone leave and readied himself to navigate a narrow avenue of frustration.
The interviews were brief. Father Giles maintained he and his wife had attended Emmanuel Episcopal at the ten-thirty service and personally spoken to Nick Fisher afterward. In fact, he needed to leave soon in order to get back across the street and assist Fisher with the five-thirty Holy Eucharist service. Ballack said he would check with the rector about the morning alibi, but he knew instinctively it would be unnecessary. Roberta Hollis was gracious in her responses, no small task on very little sleep. She had worked from seven last evening until clocking out at seven in the morning. She went home to her Kirkwood apartment and was asleep by eight o'clock. Her boyfriend Arnie was there the whole time and, while he had distracted himself by reading the Sunday Post-Dispatch online and watching ESPN over cold cereal, he could verify she never left the bedroom.
Celia Nix and Elsie Finn went in rapid-fire fashion. They had both been at Chesterfield Mall, a short distance from Elsie's house. They had gone walking at the mall--likely the only activity the structure was good for with its declining retail sales--doing three miles before getting frozen yogurt. Celia still had the receipt, which Ballack asked to keep. He grimaced and wondered if Tori was making progress with her crew. She had just sent him a text that her talk with Anna Barber was an unmitigated disaster. Isabel Andrews had gone to a late breakfast with her husband. Georgena Cundall came in at nine-thirty. Her day began with changing out the trash liners, mopping the patient rooms and hallways, and then finishing the vast amount of laundry. Her shift was to have concluded at three-thirty and she was wondering if she could leave soon, being two hours late getting home. Tori now had Eric Carter in the library strictly for show. There was no sense letting the others believe they had him off the hook as a suspect in the shooting.
Ballack remembered they had not yet talked to Beverly Overton, so he used his footplates to nudge the chapel doors open and then waved her into the room. Crabolli and Hull had interviewed her before and had found her to be a straightforward, pleasant person. She strode past Ballack and took a seat in the back row, crossing her legs. Ballack took stock of her, as this was the first time he been up close and personal. Her reddish-brown hair was brushed back smoothly and smelled freshly shampooed. She wore a black sweater with tan slacks and crocs on her bare feet. A bandage was tightly wrapped around her right hand. She stood at least five feet nine inches and her blue eyes sparkled as she appraised Ballack kindly.
He asked where she had just come from and she acknowledged coming from her house after an interrupted conversation with a neighbor.
"You live where?"
"On Trinket Drive near the dividing line between Des Peres and Kirkwood."
"Alone or with someone?" Ballack asked, noting no wedding band on her finger.
"By myself. My husband died four years back. Lawrence was seven years older than me. Died at fifty-two of a sudden heart attack. We were married for eighteen years. I still have the house and my job here, at least for now."
Ballack nodded and remained silent, to which she said, "I know you must have heard the rumors."
"Yes, Mrs. Overton. I have and..I...I couldn't help but notice your hand is wrapped. Did you injure it?"
"Scorched is more like it," she replied. "It was yesterday. I was back in that copy room and I had to change out the toner cartridge."
"So soon after everything that happened?" Ballack asked. "Dr. Hibbler's office was connected off the copy room and the scene wasn't exactly pleasant."
"Well, he didn't die in the copy room itself," she answered, her eyes blinking back tears. "And we still had work to do. That's what Isabel wanted, for us to carry on. Stiff upper lip."
"It's not Britain," Ballack offered, "but I see your point. So the toner cartridge burned you?"
"When I pulled it out, my palm must've rested on some hot metal part and it burned my hand, especially the soft part there between my thumb and index finger. It's turned into a fairly nasty blood blister."
"Is it interfering with anything you do here?" asked Ballack.
"Not terribly. I was off today, you remember," she said directly.
"Did someone else do the dressing?"
"No, I pulled that together myself. No one even noticed until Father Giles asked me about it in passing just now when he left."
"Where were you this morning, Mrs. Overton, during the time I mentioned previously?"
"I woke up around seven o'clock and went for a walk in my neighborhood. I had breakfast and watched some morning shows. Sometimes I go to church, but our choir is taking a November break before gearing up for Advent."
"You sing?"
"I have since I was seven years old. I sing in my church choir and also lead a group that carols here at the hospice each year."
"I apologize for interrupting. The rest of your morning, please."
"Well, instead of church, I stayed home. I called my sister Judy around ten. She lives in Buffalo. We spoke for about nineteen minutes. She lost her husband last year. Commiseration, you know."
"Thus, you were done speaking with her by ten-thirty?"
"Yes. Now that was on my cell phone, but I was at home the whole time."
"Did anyone in your neighborhood see you during the hours of ten until noon this morning?"
"Well, they might very well have. I did get the mail at ten-fifteen."
"The mail? On Sunday?"
"Didn't grab it from the mailbox yesterday."
"So, you got it during your phone call with your sister?"
Beverly Overton thought carefully. "It would have to be, wouldn't it?"
The conversation seemed to be winding up, and Ballack wondered if Tori might have found anything on her end. Nothing seemed to be going well.
"Thank you, Mrs. Overton. You may leave now. And I am sorry for the interruption of your day."
She nodded curtly as she rose to leave. Before she reached the doors, Ballack called out, "I hope it gets better."
"What gets better?"
He pointed. "The burn on your hand."
She touched the bandage tenderly, looking around the chapel. "Thank you. I'm sure it will." And she was gone.
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